


The New Sandwich

by LupinTheLegend



Series: P.S. I Miss Food [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, F/M, Fat Shaming, Food, Food Kink, Food Porn, M/M, Supper Club, Weight Gain, Weight Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11095023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupinTheLegend/pseuds/LupinTheLegend
Summary: Mack has always wanted to go off - do his own thing. Becoming a SHIELD agent was never his intention. In fact, what he really wanted was to be a chef. He finds his chance when Fitz is packing his bags to leave SHIELD behind. They may find love within each other, there may be lots of food, and Simmons may become a badass and join the two of them. Can you say, 'threesome'?There will be lots of action. Some molotov cocktails. And a kidnapping (this time Simmons is not the one who's kidnapped).All of this because the chefs (and bartender) refuse to cook with fake ingredients.NOTE: I've decided to write mostly Science Bros, Stark Spangled Banner, and Johnlock from now on. This series will stay unfinished.





	1. The Beast of Sicily

**Author's Note:**

> Falsified history of Agents of SHIELD .... Pay no attention to the details of SHIELD.
> 
> Also, there is a story that follows the same timeline and universe of this particular foodie SHIELD story, which involves Hunter and Bobbi. It'll be action-y as well.
> 
> Lastly, this was from my old account, which I have been locked out of because I forgot my password and accidentally deleted my e-mail (yay DX). But, I had this that I can repost! So, I'm reposting it because everything was deleted on here. Anyway, I hope you like it!

There were a few cracks of a pepper grinder, and a grinder for something that was called ‘Black Crack’. Black garlic whipped butter was slathered on one brioche slice while the other brioche slice was already slathered with a soft cheese called ‘Prestige de Bourgogne’. Jemma peeled slices of prosciutto off of plastic sheets one at a time, layering them on top of one another in swirly motions to make sure it didn’t get too thick, just like the recipe said to do. Approximately eight slices. That was a lot of salt, and then there was black crack and black garlic whipped butter with this cheese?

She was skeptical, but the recipe was written by world-renowned cookbook writer who had her own blog and helped chefs write their own cookbooks. She couldn’t believe this cookbook writer had also taken over for Dominique Crenn when the chef was out of town on personal matters. So yes, the author of the recipe knew what she was doing, but didn’t adding more salt to Prosciutto di Parma make it taste bitter? Or something?

And why radicchio? Nevertheless, Jemma Simmons tore a radicchio leaf into quarters and added in two quarters of the leaf, distributing them between the arugula and spinach.

Well, Fitz asked for a new sandwich, and this was what she found. It had been liked over three thousand times, so it must be good, right? And what was this Black Crack stuff?

She put it in the oven at five hundred degrees, leaving the door open a crack because they didn’t have a broiler.

And then, Fitz walked past the door way, and then back-stepped into the kitchen. “What is that smell?”

“Your sandwich.”

“My sandwich?” Fitz’s eyes lit up and he smiled, striding to the table. Jemma had been treating him to some really great food lately because she had said that even though they were working most of the time, it shouldn’t stop her from cooking for him (or for anyone, really). She wanted to cook, and he wanted good food, so she’d begun looking for blogs and cookbooks to cook. That was when she found Faith Wither’s blog, and was stunned by her resume, so Jemma had began cooking her recipes.

Jemma checked the time and saw that she was under by one minute. She knew ovens varied, so she checked on the sandwich, and there it was, completely finished. The edges of the brioche were a perfect, golden brown. The different greens and the radicchio had wilted. The prosciutto appeared to be all crispy. It smelled heavenly, really, like a sweet mix of cheese, meat, and bitter greens. And then there was that new smell, which was such a ridiculous smelling smell. She loved it already.

Fitz was already sitting down, she watched him watch her expectantly.

Placing the plate in front of him, he picked up the sandwich and lifted up the brioche, looking a tad confused. "Pesto aioli?" Fitz peered between two slices of Brioche, but all he could see were leaves and prosciutto.

"No, this is a new sandwich. Like you asked for, remember?" She kissed the top of his forehead, deciding to settle her soft hand on the fabric of his clothed shoulder.

Fitz frowned. "But, I like the old sandwich."

  
Smiling, Simmons sat in a chair beside him, hand still on his shoulder. "Please... at least try it before it gets cold."

"Of course I'll try it."

Fitz picked up the toasted radicchio, spinach, arugula, prosciutto sandwich, taking a bite. There was an ingredient inside that sparked his taste buds to climb all over the foods they so desperately wanted to engulf. His second bite was bigger- needier. For the first time during a meal that he could remember, he began to hum. Before he knew he even liked the sandwich he was down to two more bites. There had been no need for a break for air or water. Whatever the secret ingredient was kept him tethered to the sandwich. After, he leaned back in his chair, smiling to himself but mostly to Simmons.

"Did you like it?" She stood and picked up the plate, standing still for a few seconds before she went and placed the plate in the sink.

"Will you make me another?"

They were currently alone in the kitchenette, Fitz hovering over the table in a sitting position. Simmons began to rub circles in his back.

"When?" She kneaded at knots in his back, those circles becoming a deep seated massage. Fitz moaned quietly.

His ears turned bright red, as did the rest of his face. "Er... now?"

  
"Now?" Her tone teased him. She rubbed harder, which garnered a bigger moan. "You want another now?"

Nodding, he was grinning to himself again. "Yes... where did you get the idea, anyway?"

"You do realize you just ate eight slices of prosciutto, and a lot of bread, and half a round of soft cheese all in one go? Let your stomach rest, Fitz." Simmons crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator and pulled out a water jug. She closed the door with her hip, setting the jug on the counter. Fitz could not see her do this, but he could hear and feel it. She was behind him. Ever since the 'accident' he would get a headache whenever he turned his head. So, he listened. Someday the damage would heal, but for now he was as he was and who he was right now.

"Cheese? What kind of cheese?" Fitz couldn't stop grinning. Yes, Simmons was giving him a hard time, but she really did mean well.

"If you're not careful, you'll gain even more weight!" He heard Simmons pour two glasses of water from behind him. Two seconds later she was handing him a glass and she was sitting across from him.

Blood had rushed to Fitz's ears and his pulse throbbed in his carotid artery. "I've gained weight?"

"I'm not making you another sandwich right now."

Fitz narrowed his eyes. "Because I've gotten fat?"

"No, nothing like that, love. It's because I used all of the prosciutto and Prestige de Bourgogne." She smiled, sipping at her water.

"Oh...." Fitz sat back in his chair and stared at his own glass. "Am I fat?"

"Quantitatively speaking? No, you're not fat. You just have lumps is all."

"So, quantitatively I'm not, but qualitatively I am? That's not comforting, Jemma." He kept staring at his water glass, unblinking, unmoving. This was how he became when he was about to cry. He didn't lose all of the weight he'd had as a child -- before Jemma, before SHIELD -- just to gain it all back again. Fitz couldn't believe he'd thought his clothes had shrunken. His clothes were fine. He'd gotten bigger.

"Uh, guys?" Daisy was standing in the doorway. “I was wondering if Jemma could take a look at my gauntlets; I think I broke them during the last fight.”

Fitz's hand grazed across Simmons' fingers, and he looked her in the eye. "If you could keep finding recipes that would be great."

Shaking her head, which she knew he knew she meant she thought he was being silly, she went to go help Daisy.

Wow, what a thought-full.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another sandwich? I think so.... We will get to the supper club in a few chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for Fitz, I really do. I did however try to make sure that it all fitz with the character, and I believe it does. (Heheh... see what I did there 'sure it all fitz with the character'? It's a pun.)

Fitz stared at the recipe in his hands for a “Monster Grilled Cheesus”. He’d printed the recipe off of the Internet. There were some rather reliable food blogs on the computer, but his favorite always came back to The Food Gallery. Maybe it’s because when Jemma would make meals like seared scallops with a carrot and creme fraîche puree, it came out better than in any restaurant. Jemma said it was because of how well the recipes were written — as if they were by someone who truly understood technical writing. In fact, she even said that when she’d read the blogger’s autobiography page, she’d read that the blogger started off as a Writing Major at a liberal arts college and then went off to culinary school in Paris, also having garnered doctorates in both mechanical engineering and theoretical physics.

So, in front of him, he had three slices of brown sugar-cinnamon swirl bread, a stick of butter that had been melted down in a bowl, four slices of muenster cheese, and ten slices of maplewood- smoked bacon.

After he soaked each slice of bread in butter, he took out a double-burner frying pan, setting it on the back and front burners on the far left side of the stove. Slapping the bread on the pan, he turned the burner on medium-high. As the recipe said the bread had to be burned in order to bring out the flavor of the bread, he wanted to be quick, but not too quick. He tossed two pieces of muenster on one of the slices, and another two pieces on another slice, leaving what was supposed to be the middle slice of bread bare.

The man then took out another double-burner frying pan, placing it on the far right side of the stove, and spreading all ten slices of bacon on its surface. He set the right side of the stove to high.

With a spatula, Fitz checked the bottoms of the bread slices. He was working just fast enough as the bottoms were beginning to become golden brown, but they weren’t browned or charcoaled yet.

The smell of an incomplete sandwich wafted into the air as Professor Elemental played from his computer. Simmons always wondered why Fitz loved Steampunk so much, but it seemed it was just one of those things that made him happy. Perhaps it was because it combined the Industrial Revolution with today. You know, take the olden times and throw a couple of gears on it. Really, it was because Steampunk fans came up with some of the most interesting inventions. As Fitz was an inventor, it was no wonder why he loved it so much. His love for the inventions crossed over into the music which was really unlike anything else out there. He turned to his playlist and selected Abney Park’s “Scupper Shanty”, which was a song he always liked to play at least once when he was eating, and began to bop along to it.

He flipped the bacon over and checked the bottoms of each bread slice again. The recipe he’d printed off said to flip over the middle slice of bread on the fry pan, so he did. The middle slice was looking nice and golden brown, and had taken about three and a half minutes to get to that color. It seemed that the bacon was nice, crispy, and good and juicy, so he took tongs and lay five slices of bacon down on one muenster-covered slice of bread. With a spatula, he shifted the empty piece of cinnamon-swirl bread onto the bacon-slathered slice. He put the remaining slices of bacon on the half-sandwich, and then flipped the other muenster-covered slice onto this large behemoth in order to finish the Monster Grilled Cheesus.

Grabbing a plate from above, he noticed how it took approximately six minutes to make everything perfectly — including the bacon. Again, he grabbed the spatula, and scooped the sandwich from the fry pan and slid it onto his plate. He wondered if it was socially acceptable to use his hands.

A song from Emilie Autumn was now playing out of his computer speakers. Fitz was so entranced by the sandwich and its luscious, salty good smell, that he didn’t realize he was being watched. Maybe it wasn’t socially acceptable for him to eat it with his hands, but oh well. This was something he wanted a roll of paper towels for, and his face stuffed with. He knew that already. God, it smelled so good.

With his first bite, his tastebuds reacted by causing him to salivate. It was drool and bacon grease and butter everywhere, but he didn’t care. It seemed the burnt bread activated the sweetness of the cinnamon and brown sugar in this sandwich, and with the saltiness from the bacon and tanginess from the muenster cheese, it was a wonder why he hadn’t tried this recipe already. He knew it had no nutritional value, and was packed with calories and cholesterol, but he was too happy with it to mind. Cheese oozed out of its sides, his fingers dripped bacon fat, and his hands were coated in the glorious butter. Each bite was better than the last, no matter whether all the grease was making him feel ill or not. He didn’t care. The grease was one of the things that made the sandwich taste good. Now he understood why the author of the recipe had said to burn the bread as the sandwich was nice and sweet, all while the muenster cheese was a tad bitter. And then there was the crunch from the bacon and the give from the bread. It was... scrumptious, delectable, and exactly what he was looking for.

When he looked up, Daisy was standing there. He grinned with a mouthful of food. “Brilliant sandwich!”

“I see that!” She laughed, crossing the kitchen to the fridge. “Would you like some milk? You might want some with a sandwich like that.”

“Er... yeah, thanks! Damn good sandwich.” Within seconds it was gone, and he was stuffed. He’d even forgotten about the milk that was sitting within reach, right in front of him. He looked at the milk, took a few gulps, and grinned. “Damn good sandwich.”

Daisy sat down. “Yeah?”

Fitz wiped his hands off on a couple paper towels. “Yeah.”

“Listen, I need to talk to you about something… is now a good time?” She smiled at him. “More like, Jemma wanted for me to talk to you.”

Mack appeared in the doorway. He leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed against his mass of a chest. Fitz eyed him, blushing. The scot always wished he was more of a brawny-type figure, but he’d never be there, so why not indulge? His clothes had been fitting even tighter lately, and he knew that, but, if he couldn’t be more like Mack then why shouldn’t he indulge himself? That was something he knew Jemma didn’t want to hear, especially not through Daisy, but this was what was happening to him. He was doing this to himself, and you know what? He liked it. None of the bullies in the world mattered anymore, and if his own girlfriend and Daisy or Mack wanted to hear a piece of his mind, they would get it.

Mack was the first to speak, “I think Turbo’s trying to eat, Tremors. Just, let him eat. Whatever you have to say can wait, right?”

Daisy eyed Fitz first and then Mack. “Yeah, okay, sure. Fitz, come find me when you’re done.” She tapped the table with her palm, sliding out of the chair, striding out of the room after looking back at Fitz. Was that a scoff right after she turned back around?

“Good sandwich? You know, if you want me to, I can cook for you.” The brawny man sat down where Daisy had been sitting. He was so big and tall and sexy, and what was Fitz next to him? Just some… fat, homely person with blonde hair and blue eyes and not much else. And whenever Fitz shaved he ended up looking like a kid, so he left his stubble where it belonged: on his face instead of in the sink. Mack began to speak, and Fitz found himself hanging on each word, as if they were a lifeline, “Long time ago, I was a chef. I always dreamed of picking cooking back up. If you have any questions, just ask.”

“They’ve been mean, almost cruel-hearted.”

“Yeah, they have been.”

“Why are you being so nice to me when no one else is?”

“Because, I dunno, I like a man who eats?” Mack stated as a fact, which made Fitz feel good.

But, if it was supposed to make the scot feel good, why did Mack look like he was mentally kicking himself?

Fitz smiled. He felt Mack smile back at him as well as watched his grin appear. Those eyes lit up. Oh god, those big, brown eyes lit up. What was happening? Was something happening right now? Fitz could… he could live with that, he thought.

“Thanks,” Fitz said.

Mack tore off a paper towel, and Fitz took it from him, his friend looking like he had something to say. Again Mack winced out a smile, looking like he was shaking off whatever words were in his throat. Instead, he offered, “You have something right here,” and he pointed to crumbs that Fitz must have had around his mouth.

Again, Fitz blushed, his stomach churning. It wasn’t an odd sort of churn, but it was churning nevertheless. He wiped his face and Mack rested his hands on his lap.

They began a conversation that they would both forget later, but Jemma was standing, watching without them knowing. She knew more than anyone what she was allowing to happen.


	3. Duck Confit With An Onion Chutney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz has been gaining a lot of weight. What's worse is his clothes don't fit. Jemma's answer? Protein shakes, but Fitz just wants to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and angst in copious amounts in this chapter. Lots of fluff and angst.

They were whispering about him.

The worst part was that he didn’t know why they were whispering.

And by the sideways glances and the hushed tones as soon as he walked into the room, it was obvious that they were, well, gossiping while he was standing right there. This team was more like a family than his own family, and yet he’d been reduced to a sideshow? It wasn’t just irritating, it was downright rude... and kind of cruel. Jemma was standing there with Bobbi and Daisy, trying to ignore that he’d even come into the room. Ever since his physical, she’d been acting rather strange and steering clear of him. Every time he tried to bring it up to her when they were in bed, she just turned on her side and turned off her light. She would pretend to be asleep, and he knew she was pretending because her heart rate did not slow down and her breathing was the same. She also did not twitch as if her body was settling, because it was not settling. Her body was still awake.

Daisy kept looking at Fitz, asking him if he was planning on finish all of the food on his plate. He was about one hundred and ten percent sure that he was going to finish his food, every time. And he did. He finished his food every time and he put the leftovers in the refrigerator. Fitz left himself good and sated. And then she would literally grab his fork out of his hand and start eating off of his plate. It’s wrong on many, many levels. If she wanted a bite, she could ask instead of monopolizing his meal.

Bobbi… well, apparently she’d been avoiding him like the plague. Whenever he was around, she pretended like he didn’t exist. It’s like, he wasn’t in the room.

All of this over some physical or some weight? What the hell. Of course he knew it was because of his weight! So, he’d gained some love-handles and if his ass was more shapely than some women’s, so what? It’s not like it’s hurt his ability to run or to do his job. If anything, keeping himself sated has given him more energy to do his job.

And now they were in the same room, and they were whispering about him.

What was so bad about his physical? “Come off it.” Fitz stood there, a little shocked at himself for not ignoring them, but they were supposed to be his friends. How can a person be friends with any of these people after they’ve been treating him like a circus clown with the big shoes, and the bright red nose? Did he suddenly sprout two more legs, fur, and antlers, and become Rudolph? It made no sense to him. It especially made no sense to him why, of all people, Jemma would initiate gossip. “I know you’re talking about me, so come off it. I know it’s about my physical, and I don’t give a fuck about my physical. It’s just goddamn papers. It doesn’t tell you that I’ve been more energetic or that I don’t get out of breath as easily. This just… comes down to the fact that your gossip is becoming rather tedious... so just... stop.”

“Fitz, we’re only trying to help.” Bobbi grabbed her glass of water from behind her, sipping at it with her arms crossed over her chest.

Fitz’s eyes widened and he raised his eyebrows and then they furrowed out of confusion. “Help me? Help me how? How are you supposed to help me by treating me like I either don’t exist, or like I’m just some homeless bum that you like to laugh and point at. Please, help me? You’re not helping anything, just perpetuating my feeling like I don’t belong!”

They were in the kitchen. Fitz was near the doorway while the gaggle of girls stood in front of the fridge. He had tears in his eyes. They were looking at him as if he had grown six more legs and was now scuttling toward the ceiling as he blinked his twenty-thousand eyes. The man made a motion for the fridge, and in it he found none of the ingredients he’d bought the other day for a crab cake sandwich with a classic aioli, or the ingredients for his monster grilled cheesus, or ingredients for the shredded duck confit sandwich with a red onion chutney that he had so desperately wanted to try today. “Where’s all my food? I don’t understand? Where’s all my food? I spent good money on that, especially the duck and the crab! Where did it disappear to?”

Jemma closed her eyes, as if she could will this moment away. “Fitz... please —“

“I’d say your paunch, but we threw it all out,” Daisy muttered words under her breath, which Fitz was sure everyone could hear, even Mack who was standing in the doorway. The taller, and much more fit, man did not look impressed. But, the scot could not understand whether that irksome gaze was pointed at him or at the gaggle of girls.

He spun around, not understanding. “All there are... are protein shakes. How can anyone survive on protein shakes?”

“You’re going to have to, Fitz... at least for awhile?” Jemma Simmons pursed her lips and looked at the ground as if she knew what they had done was wrong, but also as if she was trying to justify it.

Those tears were falling now, falling down his face. “Did you — did any of you even stop to consider what I would feel once you did this? Did you ever stop to think that I, first off, wouldn’t be able to trust you again... at least for a long time; and, second off, would rather leave than have to stay here with all of you? Every single time any of you became ‘the other’, I was standing right there trying to make it all better, and now you’re all against me? Fuck you... fuck all of you!” And the scot stormed off, fists clenched after slamming the refrigerator door and hearing it shake.

+++***+++***+++

He’d been in his room for awhile, not that long, but awhile. He was busy collecting all of his things. He’d leave his inventions here, but he needed air. He already asked Mace for it a few days ago, had told Coulson that he couldn’t be there anymore. The SHIELD director had asked if him was alright because he was acting strange, but the thing was, until just now, he’d been completely fine! Fine as in great; not fine as in okay, but ‘not really’.

There was a knock at the door.

“Leave me alone....” Fitz glanced at the door, then back at his two suitcases, which had been filled to the brim with all of the clothing he could still wear. He couldn’t believe he’d been so blind as to not notice just how much he was squeezing into boxers that had been two sizes too small, or shirts that showed that tiny little bit of fat right at the bottom of his paunch. Now he knew he needed bigger clothing, but why couldn’t they have found a nicer, kinder, more humane way of telling him?

Door opened anyway, and in the doorway stood Mack. “All packed?”

“Yeh, why?”

“Because I’m taking you to the places that have all the best food; we’ll just find a place and we’ll go. Also, try this....” Mack held out a plate, and on that plate was what looked like a beautiful croissant with what smelled like spreadable goat cheese, what looked like a sweet pepper, herbed turkey, and smoked salmon.

The scot looked at him for a moment, as if trying to figure him out. “Why wo—“

“No, just try it. Trust me. It’s not a trick, Turbo. Just trust me.”

Fitz took another look at the sandwich, layered the top croissant part on the rest of the layers, and picked it up. It felt good in his hands, as if he thought he’d be forced to drink protein shakes until he lost four stone. “What are you asking of me?” He took a bite of the sandwich over the plate that Mack was still holding, and he began to hum. The sandwich was a damn good sandwich, with the tanginess of goat cheese, the sweetness of peppers, the smokiness of the smoked salmon. He knew how special it was for Mack to feel like he had to make him a sandwich. “This is fantastic.”

“I have several more where that came from.”

Fitz finished the sandwich in five more bites and a rather stuffed face, and went to collect his bags. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I belong in a kitchen somewhere out there, makin’ food rather than being a mechanic. I got into this because of several things, including I didn’t think I’d make what I wanted to happen, uh, I guess, happen. Never really told anybody that, but that’s why.” Mack set the plate on the dresser and rubbed the back of his head. He took a step in. “And Turbo?”

“Yeah?” Fitz could feel him getting closer. Mack picked up Fitz’s duffel bags, and went out to grab his own suitcases.

Mack furrowed his brow and shook it off. “Ah, Mace said May would take us to the hotel where I reserved our rooms.”

“Where?”

“The Paris Hotel… in uh…. in Paris”

Fitz’s eyes widened and he dropped his bags on the ground. “Wuh —?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, uh Mack, I really don’t know what to say.”

Mack nodded, his face fallen and downcast. “You still sweet on Simmons?”

“Not anymore; don’t think I ever will be again after this incident… that y’know, just happened. I’m done. She keeps hurting me, so I’m done.”

“Yeah, so, uh… yeah?” Mack appeared to be rather pensive, but Fitz couldn’t tell why.

“Nah, we just keep getting worse and then we try to shake it off.” Fitz’s eyes glanced at Mack’s lips for the faintest of seconds, and then he realized why his stomach was always churning. He realized why the churning felt good. There was so much to realize, and it was ridiculous that he’d wasted so much time not seeing it. But, now he did. He understood what Mack understood, and, why two months ago, Mack had said he liked men who ate. “I’m in love with someone else... someone who’s always just tried to do their best here, but didn’t feel they belonged.”

“Daisy?” Mack’s eyes rested on Fitz, and Fitz could feel them searching for an answer.

Fitz shook his head. “Not Daisy.... I’m talking about a man who calls me Turbo, wants to be a chef, and booked us two rooms, which really should be one room, at The Paris Hotel.”

“You know, there are other foods in the world besides that sandwich.” Mack dropped Fitz’s bags on the floor and inched closer.

Fitz grinned. “Really? Other things besides sandwiches? Like duck confit with an onion chutney? Or, hm… rabbit foot wings with a juniper berry gin-and-sriracha sauce?”

“Yeah.” Mack kicked the door closed and Fitz and Mack began to kiss, neither of them realized that Jemma was standing right outside the door. Neither of them could hear the apology that was stuck in her throat.

+++***+++***+++

That’s alright, give it time, and she’d find them.

She wouldn’t give up, and she knew it had to happen this way anyway. Mack was always so good to him, and… Fitz was right to say that she wasn’t.

Jemma knew she couldn’t even take care of herself… couldn’t take care of herself, and then she realized, that was the answer: take care of him the way he took care of her.

So, the day after Fitz and Mack left, she created something for Fitz in the lab, packed a bag, and handed in her resignation. She would become hardened like a rock, a stone, a brick… and allow the love to pour out of her in ways it never had before.


	4. Salted Caramel Chocolate Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who shows up at the door of Fitz and Mack's hotel room? Have no guesses? Wait, no... read it and find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this there's a ton of action and a ton of food. More so than before. There will be a break from food for a while.
> 
> I'm also posting the other section of this series this evening, which will make sense once I get to the third section and splice it all together.

“I’m taking you to Wine Country in New York state next.” Mack was on his laptop, using their current hotel’s free Wi-Fi. They were in the market arrondissement of Paris, and had just finished eating breakfast at Frenchie To Go. There had been a special sandwich there that one could find nowhere else. In France, people ate a croissant or another pastry for the first meal of the day. Mack had been adamant that he was going to have Fitz try ‘heaven between two slices of bread’, but he hadn’t had to argue the way he thought he would have to. Fitz was happy to go anywhere, as long as it was with his longtime friend and now paramour. Glancing back at Fitz, who was behind him, munching away at strawberry macarons and salted caramels, Mack grinned. He turned around on the bed, stealing a kiss.

They rested their foreheads on one another’s for a moment, and Mack returned to his laptop that Fitz had retrofitted to be untraceable. Mack supposed the one person who would be able to find Fitz’s untraceable computer would be Daisy, but Fitz said that ‘a computer cannot be traced if it doesn’t have a IP Address’. Both of them knew that to be true, but Mack wasn’t sure how it was possible. Fitz had tried explaining it, but that just made his boyfriend’s head hurt. Mack stole another kiss, wanting to taste the salted caramel on Fitz’s strawberry tongue. His boyfriend finished the box of macarons and was now onto unwrapping the other sweets they’d bought.

A mouthful of sticky, salted, and burnt sugar was on Fitz’s mind as he unwrapped another caramel. But, he needed to know something. “What’s in the wine country in New York? I thought the only good wine country was in California.”

“Oh, no. Tell me you did not just say that?” Mack laughed and he listed off a whole ream of restaurants that were perfect. One of them was a James Beard Award Winner, and a rather legitimate restaurant serving German food. Another was a restaurant that did everything from beer to wine to farming, called Stone Cat Café. And yet, there were many more, including scotch bars in New York City that Mack thought Fitz would be proud to go to because, well, a scotsman in a scotch bar. And Mack was dating that scot. Just a thought, but Fitz thought Mack thought it was sexy… and it kind of was. Even though New York City wasn’t wine country, the bars in Brooklyn sounded like a ton of fun. And okay, so, it did kind of make Fitz proud that there were such things as scotch bars.

“Er… a scotch bar? I like that idea.” Greedy fingers popped three more caramels into Fitz’s mouth, and as he chewed that low, guttural humming resounded from deep within his throat.

Mack brought the laptop to Fitz and placed it on his lap. Sitting against the headboard with his legs outstretched, he scrolled through the New York’s Wine Country page. “I’ve been doing some research, and I’d love to start a supper club here in Brooklyn. If I’m going to have a restaurant, it looks like this would be the best place to do so.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Brooklyn is still expanding their food universe, and if we start an up and coming attraction, we can have an art gallery and a restaurant in the art gallery. I feel like we should visit to see if it feels like home after we visit the rest of New York.”

Fitz licked his fingers, swallowing his saliva and the rest of the caramel he was eating. “Am I too...?” He motioned to all of him.

Mack clicked on a link while watching his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. They’d had a peaceful six months, traveling all over the world and traveling everywhere they wanted to go. No inhumans bothered them because most of them didn’t want to be found, no Watch Dogs, no worries about impending doom or the end of the world... all they had to worry about was where they would begin the rest of their lives, and how they were going to do it. But, Mack knew something had been bothering Fitz, which bothered him. He’d tried asking about it, but the question seemed to hang in the air. Thank god, it seemed it was time for his boyfriend to tell him what was bothering him. Mack didn’t think he could take one more moment of his boyfriend feeling oppressed, disgruntled, unloved, or any other adjective that might describe how he was feeling. “You just motioned to all of you?” It was a statement, said as a question, which was more of a question than a statement.

“Is this...?” Fitz motioned at himself again, as if what he was trying to say was too difficult.

“I don’t get it. What’s wrong with all of you?” Mack furrowed his brow, and shifted to sit across from his lover who had tears in his eyes. This was what had been bothering him. They were in the middle of a more than important conversation when they had a knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“Room service!” Was the echo in the hallway from behind the door.

Fitz shook his head. “I didn’t order any food.”

“You didn’t?”

Fitz shook his head again. The glock was in the top drawer of the nightstand. Another rap at the door. He held the glock in his hand to his side, and strode to the door. Peering through the peephole, he should’ve realized who the voice belonged to. “Simmons?” Mack unlocked the hotel room door, including the chain. He eyed the floor for a second, hoping that this would be easier than he thought it would be. His eyes closed, and he had a moment of silence, just in case.

“Please open the door! I need to talk to my monkey... well, now, our monkey. May I please talk to Fitz? Apologize, at least?” Simmons sounded as if she was out of breath from panic. “Also, it’s Jemma now. Just Jemma Simmons. I’m ignoring the doctoral part.”

Mack allowed her in. She looked around at their room, gave him a giant hug. She moved further into the spacious suite, eyed the draperies, the solitary bed in the middle of the side wall, and Fitz on that bed. Once she began to speak, her words tumbled out, as if she’d been practicing but she was so nervous that she still, even now, had no idea what to say. Words, so many words, and she was sobbing. Mack watched Fitz, his mouth dropped open and tears in his eyes. He saw everything he wanted ending before it ever even began. “I’m so sorry. I realize I was awful. I have such a terrible bedside manner when it comes to people I’m treating, even if they’re people I love. I’ve decided to leave that life behind me if at all possible. Please let me stay. I know it’s Mack’s decision as much as it’s yours, but I’ve been so awful to so many people that I care about, and I should know better. After your accident I was cruel and demeaning, and how I treated you never got better. I know that I’m to blame for losing you as someone to love, but please don’t say I’ve lost you as a friend.”

“Jemma... how did you find us?”

“Plastic trail... and several phone calls.” She nodded, old tears drying on her face and new ones still pouring from their ducts.

Fitz leaned back in bed, beginning to unwrap another caramel. They sat in silence as he chewed. He handed one to her, and she unwrapped it, a soft smile ghosting her lips. Most of the recognition of the caramel as a peace offering met her eyes, where her happiness in seeing him lie. Through that small gesture to her, Mack knew that Fitz and Simmons would be alright, and that he should maybe leave. He knew the chance he had was because Simmons wasn’t there, wasn’t around as much as she should have been, or even could have been, or maybe even wanted to be. She said she wanted her name to be Jemma, just Jemma, but where did that leave him? Just Mack? He could still own that restaurant, but it wouldn’t be as swee — “I should leave you two alone. It’s been six months. You two should catch up.” He hadn’t unpacked his bag, and all it took was heading to the door where he’d left it for him to realize it wasn’t where he’d left it. Mack looked around, saw it across the room, which was odd, and went to it, zipped it up, and wheeled it toward the door.

He could feel Fitz scrambling out of bed, the look of terror on his face, the thud when his feet touched the ground. Closing his eyes, he hoped and he prayed that he could still have his dream. He could feel Fitz behind him now, and Mack hung his head. He could feel the goodbye crawling out of Fitz’s throat, but instead he heard, “Where are you going? Are you leaving? Don’t leave.”

Mack’s eyes stung, but as he always did he held back the tears. “I was just holding a place that belonged to someone —“

“Mack, I didn’t come here to get Fitz back! I came here to be with two people that I care about more than SHIELD. I was taught to put the good of SHIELD before my friends and those I love, but I can’t do that... not when it comes to the two of you. You two are my friends, and after the number of times I hurt Fitz I don’t believe I belong here. I will only be here if I am accepted to be here, but as a friend! My god, please stay. It wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t here. I had my chance, and I don’t deserve another one.” Simmons somehow wedged herself in between Mack and the door. She planted herself in a firm stance, arms across her chest, staring up at him with soulful brown eyes. “Now come back in here this instant. I’m in one room over and I fully intend on giving you two your privacy when you two need it.”

“I need to —“

“Please stay.... I love you. I know I hadn’t said it yet, but I do. I love you.” Fitz stole away the suitcase, and brought it to their bed. “And I believe Jemma should stay. And I believe she should work in the restaurant with us. She may not have as much experience as you, but she knows how to follow directions and may have more talent than you think. Just... don’t think something like that. Don’t. I love you, Mack, I do. These past six months have been the best months of my life.” He began to unpack the suitcase, pulling out clothing and hanging them beside his own in the closet beside Mack and Jemma.

“I thought I was the reason why you were uncomfortable. I just... thought....” Mack turned around, crossing his arms over his chest as a protective measure.

Jemma smiled a soft smile, but it did not reach her eyes. “I know why that is, but it has nothing to do with you.” Mack could feel her watching him as he strode into the room, and he could feel the anger Fitz directed toward himself. Jemma said, “I’ll leave you two be,” and she strode out of the room, closing the door behind her. The taller man wondered whether Fitz could also hear Jemma’s cry of joy, as if she’d won an uphill battle. He also wondered whether Fitz could hear the door to her room opening and closing as he could.

“It’s not you.... Before, when I was young, I was bullied. Not because I was short, but because I was five-foot-two and weight twenty stone, which is approximately two hundred and eighty pounds. I was frightened most of the time of the children at school, and life wasn’t fun for me. I had a difficult time getting around, and I was always short of breath. We walk everywhere, I make certain to exercise, but no matter what it’s like the weight keeps climbing. I brought a scale with me, just in case. I’m about nineteen stone, which would be about two hundred and sixty-six pounds. In six months I have gained sixty-six pounds. I’m surprised Jemma didn’t say anything. I just... don’t want it to be difficult again, and when it began to become difficult eight months ago, when it seemed everyone was against me... I.... I don’t want to be someone who can’t get out of a chair themselves, but I do want to be a person who can eat... and eat a lot and as much as he damn pleases without looking like a fool. Jemma had tested this medication that was laced to my DNA on me, and I dropped weight dramatically. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it this time.” Fitz must of realized he was clutching onto a pair of Mack’s boxers too tight because he dropped them, picked them up, and began to refold them.

“Turbo? Why couldn’t you of told me this sooner?” Mack wrapped his arms around Fitz’s middle, placing his chin on top of his lover’s head. He stopped and nibbled at Fitz’s neck. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Is this why we haven’t been having sex as much as we could be, ‘cause y’know, I would like to make love to you all night long every night if I could... if you’d let me.”

“I didn’t tell you this sooner... because I didn’t want this to be a problem for us, and I was hoping it would just go away. Also,” Fitz turned around, biting Mack’s bottom lip and pulling his head back, “I didn’t want you to think I was being all insecure about my weight.”

“I love the way you look and so should you. Nobody’s opinion but ours should matter. As long as you’re heart healthy, that’s all that matters to me.”

There was a rap at the door. “Room service!” The same English accent resounded from the hallway. “I have a present!”

“Yeah?” Mack opened the door and a medicine bottle was shoved in his hands.

Simmons grinned. “I changed the molecular composition of the medicine I used to make Fitz so that it wouldn’t taste like petroleum. Tell him to take two when he wants to lose three stone, and then he can regain it and then lose it. It’s completely alright for the body to go through gaining and losing in repetition. It doesn’t harm anyone’s chemistry at all. Anyway, I’m going to go shopping. My room is retrofitted with a kitchenette, which I would love to start cooking in.” She gave Mack one quick hug and left him dumbfounded as he closed the door behind her whilst she walked away.

“Uh.... Well, Simmons gave me a bottle of medicine for you, but I think you already know what these are.”

“She remembered.” Fitz took the bottle from Mack and placed it on the night table. “Her one last doctoral deed. I’m going to take two if and when I gain one more stone.”

“You love her, don’t you?”

“As a friend.”

  
“Nothing more than that?”

“If it was any more than that I wouldn’t of been so frightened of your leaving. Now come here. I believe we left a salted caramel chocolate bar in the refrigerator.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simmons kind of becomes a badass after this because I think she should learn how to take care of herself. I mean, I don't like weak female characters, so she becomes strong in this fan fiction because I think by now she should be strong.


	5. Strawberry Gashes As Just Desserts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later, Jemma proves that she can take care of herself. Also, Leo Fitz happens to be a kick-butt bartender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fudging the idea that supper clubs can have alcohol (they can't get liqueur licenses for legal reasons.)

Three years had come and gone. Three hundred pounds, healthy, and happy, Leo Fitz had become one hell of a bartender and, it turns out, the exact sort of person that people in Brooklyn needed. He’d come up with hundreds of drinks over the past three years, and they’re entire fanbase was begging for them to open a restaurant. They’d saved up a ton of money, and had so much of their life figured out. It took three years for them to realize that no one was chasing them anymore, and that they were okay, truly okay.

It was better now, Leo knew.

He no longer had those insecurities and Jemma was always kind to him, not matter the sort of ass-kicking, slightly bouncer-like person she’d turned into. When someone became too drunk and started sweet talking her, she’d ‘take them out’, meaning, give them a good slugging and ask if anyone else ‘wanted to be funny’. Needless to say, people stopped picking fights with her. Just because she was short didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of herself. Mack even stopped trying to help and Leo would chuckle from behind the bar and say, ‘You shouldn’t have done that, mate.’

They had a little, miniature lab in the downstairs of their space where she could create the medicine if need be. He hadn’t needed it lately. Three years was a long time. Somehow, his body said, ‘I think I’ll stop here,’ and he capped out at three hundred pounds. Even though they were always busy as a supper club that served three nights a week, he and Mack had a rather active sex life. Mack was still the giant, brawny man he always was with those nice, muscular arms… not a bit of padding on him… and he loved biting Leo in all the right places. So yes, these past three years have been nice — better than nice, actually.

Leo felt like he was finally home. He liked that.

Comfortable, like life should be.

So, that night had swallowed the day. New Year’s Eve came and went, dishes having been washed early on that morning by a certain ex-weapons engineer. Once Leo had been nodding off at the sink, Jemma and Mack had sent him upstairs to sleep. The two had gone to bed after the supper club’s evening festivities, but Leo had stayed awake, thinking.

He flopped into bed, dreaming about the cocktail he had made with Horchata, Buttershots, and Godiva liqueur. There had been one odd visitor to their club, but the whole night had gone smoothly. There was the news, but he thought nothing of it until… now, the same moment when he needed to sleep. It was the same moment he found himself staring at the ceiling. His eyes closed every so often, but he blinked them back open when he felt sleep coming on. He is in charge of alcohol and drinks at the club, but sometimes the feeling of being an agent came back.

There was an odd visitor, and their hands looked similar to someone’s he knew from a while back. No one wore black leather gloves, sunglasses, and a sun hat unless they had a reason to. She took them off only to eat. No, this person was keeping an eye on them, and rightly so. As soon as Leo realized who it was, he drifted into sleep, only to forget.

The whole night had gone smoothly. There was the news, but he thought nothing of it. Neither did his family.

BANG.

Leo nearly fell out of bed.

BANG.

Mack grabbed his axe-gun from under the bed, beginning to load it with shells which he’d always hid inside his zippered pillow.

BANG.

“Jemma?” Leo, still groggy, stumbled onto his feet, into the doorway after grabbing the transceiver to one of his faithful inventions. Thinking quickly, he grabbed one of the receivers to his invention from atop the shelf above the washing machine. The dryer was still drying some towels, and he could smell the heat rising off of the metal as he passed by. He’d have to check on that later because it shouldn’t become that hot. Standing to the side of the door as to not get shot when he opened it, he pushed her bedroom door open. Exactly like he thought, bullets sped through the air, lodging themselves in the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Stepping into the room, Leo saw Jemma standing there with a bag over her head and a man holding a gun in one hand. Leo shouted, “Think fast!” He threw a receiver at the man, who caught it, Jemma collapsing to the floor. She shimmied out of the way as her almost-captor dissolved into thin air.

Upstairs, there were several gunshots. No cries for help. No asking for back-up. And two minutes after all of the shooting was over, Mack enters the doorway. His axe-gun is slung over one shoulder. Leo looked up at him, and then took a few steps toward the co-executive chef. He knelt, peeling the bag off of her head.

Underneath that bag was a stupid grin, and she laughed.

“You know, it takes a special sort of coward to try to kidnap someone in the middle of the night when they’re sleeping.” She began to laugh, a wholehearted guffaw. Her best friend hugged her even though she was fine and doing what she’d learned to do after SHIELD. Sure, she was different, but sometimes different was good. Sometimes different meant someone had become strong, and sometimes that someone could be Jemma Simmons. She grinned, holding up the switchblade Mack had given her four years ago for her birthday.

“Also, I killed one, see?” She pointed to the corner of the room where all the blood was. “Carotid artery, bitch.”

Leo chuckled. “You’ve changed.”

“And you are fast… and that’s definitely not the adrenaline.”

She grinned until someone reached through the open window behind her, trying to pull her up through the open pane. Mack tried to shoot, but he was out of shells. This person had long, black hair coming through their mask. Jemma threw her legs up around the person’s neck and squeezed, pulling the bloody knife out of the carpet she’d stabbed it into. This other kidnapper was struggling to breathe, and was too thin to lift a one hundred and thirty pound ball of bones and muscle through the window. They tumbled through the open pane. Leo watching, pulling both Jemma and the adversary apart when he thought the assailant was dead. But no, not dead. They made a lunge for Jemma. She cut their Achilles tendon and watched them fall to the ground. They bounced back up.

“Leo, close the window.” Jemma said, bouncing onto her feet. She had the knife in her fist, stabbing it into the person’s thigh, They grabbed her head, tried to twist. Jemma let her body go completely limp, collapsing to the ground and bringing them with her. The brunette woman switched where the knife was, pointing it up when the person fell on her. The masked assailant ended up stabbed in their stomach. Jemma tore the mask off once their blood had leaked all over the room, sprouting from the tendon and their solar plexus where they fell. Jemma pushed them off of her, tore off their mask, and gasped. “Bobbi?”

Fitz knelt to the ground, pulled off the disguise they wore underneath the ski mask and said, “No, not Bobbi. I don’t know who this is, but it’s not Bobbi.”

Mack stood there in the doorway. “You know, for a small person, you make a hell of a fighter.”

“The best martial artists are tiny people.” Jemma looked at her two best friends, “What do we do?”

“Exactly what three upstanding citizens do in these situations. We call the police.”


End file.
